” “Very well,” he said. Father and daughter regarded each other warily, each more than a little insecure with the other. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. She felt a little ashamed of herself, a bit of a hypocrite.
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